


The Time We Wasted (We can get it back)

by veritas_st



Series: Time Series [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been doing this dance for years.  Or so it seems.  Circling round one another till they're both dizzy and can't see straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time We Wasted (We can get it back)

They've been doing this dance for years. Or so it seems. Circling round one another till they're both dizzy and can't see straight. Even Jackson's notice, self absorbed Jackson who still looks at Stiles sometimes like he doesn't belong at the pack meetings, even though they've come to some semblance of a tentative friendship. Allison doesn't belong either, in Stiles's opinion, not that he doesn't like Allison, he does, she's kick ass with a crossbow after all, what's not to like? But she is part hunter. Neither does Lydia technically, although no one really argues with Lydia, even though they don’t really know what she is yet. 

Anyway, they've been doing this dance is the point. _They_ being him and Derek. And it's getting to breaking point for Stiles. 

Stiles is your average everyday, run of the mill teenager heading into his twenties. Ok maybe not so average, seeing that his best friend is a werewolf who's going out with a werewolf hunter and his other two 'friends' are also both werewolves. And there's also the creepy older guy who keeps them all together. But apart from that he's pretty average. Except that he's come to the conclusion that he's got a big gay hard on for one Derek Hale. The aforementioned creepy older guy. The big gay hard on wasn't that much of a ground breaking conclusion to be honest, he kind of knew the second he saw Derek in the woods that day looking for Scott's inhaler, something flicked inside him. Didn't stop him from lusting after Lydia for the rest of high school though. He's starting to think that maybe it isn't such a big gay hard on, as much as a big Derek hard on. Anyway, he's pretty average, grew up in the house he still lives in now, average student, average looks, has a tendency to get into trouble, but that might just be because his best friend is a werewolf. He's never really been anything special. Not to anyone. Even to Scott, he's just always been Stiles but Derek looks at him sometimes like he's important. And it makes Stiles's big Derek hard on, all the more big. 

The dance reached it crescendo one night, a few years back when Stiles was a few weeks shy of 18. Desperate to touch Derek in any way possible, desperate to touch anything really, especially when he had to live vicariously through Jackson and Lydia and Allison and Scott. Seemed he and Derek were the only ones not getting any. Unless Derek was off someone where else getting his wolf rocks off, but that seemed unlikely given Derek's permanent bad mood. But it came to head, the others had left and Stiles, desperate to make himself useful, to be anything apart from Mr Research had stayed behind, tidied up after wayward teenagers that thought fairies put trash into the trash can. He had sighed heavily and Derek's hand had closed around his in the sink. 

“You don't have to do that,” he had muttered, whilst Stiles had tried desperately not to groan at the feel of Derek's skin sliding against his. 

“I know, but I need to do something other than just be the sixth wheel all the time,” Stiles had said back and Derek had cocked his head to the side, looked confused at Stiles, “and I realise a sixth wheel would be useful given that its an even number and all but you don’t count…not that you don’t count but you can rock the lone wolf deal, you know?” Stiles flexed his fingers gently. Derek had snatched his hand away. 

“You matter Stiles,” he had said and Stiles had felt the air going out of the room. Or some other poetic bullshit like that, but he had found it hard to breathe and briefly wondered if Asthma was contagious and he'd picked it up from Scott. He had shaken his head as Derek took a step back. 

“I...” 

“Go home,” Derek had turned away and the plate Stiles had been rinsing had clattered into the sink, making Derek jump slightly as he turned back around.

“I don't want to,” Stiles had know he sounded like a child, small and a little lost and Derek had taken half a step back, his fingers twitching by his sides. 

“Stiles...don't,” and those two words had made Stiles realise that there was something other than pack leader, pack member-best-friend dynamics going on here. 

“Derek...” Derek had shaken his head almost sadly and stepped away from Stiles. 

“I said no Stiles.” 

“Well actually you didn't say no, you said don't, which are different words with different meanings...” Stiles had been rambling, he usually did when he was nervous, and Derek usually bought the nerves out of him. 

“Stiles...” 

“I'm not a kid anymore Derek,” Stiles had protested and Derek’s eyes had darkened for a second, his whole body freezing as Stiles took another step forward. 

“You're 17,” he had said quietly, resignation in his voice evident even to Stiles and he knew he had lost for that night. 

“18 in three weeks,” even though he had lost, Stiles had never been known to give up easily, Derek had scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“The very fact you said that makes my argument all the more valid,” he had replied, a small quirk in his lips like he found the whole thing amusing but was keeping a lid on his smile for Stiles’s benefit. 

“Dammit Derek,” Stiles hand had made a satisfying slap as it hit the table and suddenly Stiles had found himself with his back up against the fridge and a furious Derek staring down at him, a brief flash of red and knuckles white where they had gripped at Stiles’s shirt.

“This Stiles? You want this?” Derek had growled and watched as Stiles’s throat bobbed as he swallowed around his dry tongue. “You make me do this Stiles, I lose control, you don’t want that,” Derek had dropped him suddenly, stepping back and running his hands through his hair and Stiles hadn’t failed to notice the way his fingernails were slightly longer than normal. “Go home.” 

And for once in his life Stiles had done as he was told. 

That had been years ago now, well two, but it had felt like a life time with Derek looking at him sideways every now and then, and Jackson wrinkling his nose whenever Derek did it. He had started to think that Derek hadn’t felt anything, was just trying to warn Stiles away from him, but occasionally Derek would let his hand slide across the back of Stiles’s neck, nails scratching slightly and Stiles would shudder. And Derek wouldn’t speak to him for days after that. And Stiles would be left wondering just what the hell went through the Alpha’s mind.

He’s moping around his house, like he always does after such moments, with his neck still tingling with the feel of Derek’s hot skin against it and his dad catches him drinking milk out of the carton again. 

“Anything wrong kiddo?” he asks and Stiles swallows his mouthful of milk, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm. His dad leans against the kitchen door jamb, arms crossed, Sherriff look on his face and Stiles shakes his head. 

“No, nothing, absolutely fine, why would you think otherwise?” Stiles asks and his dad raises an eyebrow. 

“Well firstly, I’ve known you for nearly 20 years, secondly, you only mope after your Club House meetings,” Stiles snorts, puts the carton of milk back into the refrigerator. 

“Club House meetings?” He grins at his dad, “Dad, we’re not 12, they’re just movie nights,” he says with a shrug and his dad smiles, but it fades quickly. 

“With a much older guy who you once accused of murder,” he points out and Stiles rubs at the back of his neck at the mention of Derek. 

“Derek’s fine dad, he’s…” Stiles pauses, at a loss for words to describe just what Derek is.

“What?” 

“Fine. He’s fine.” Stiles shrugs again and settles for the perfectly non-descript word. His dad heads over to the cabinet where he stores the whiskey. 

“Fine. Or _fine_ ,” he asks, curling his fingers of one hand above his head like quote marks and pouring himself a slug if the amber liquid with the other. 

“Oh my God, you did _not_ just do that,” Stiles groans, making to go past his dad. The Sherriff’s hand reaches out and touches his shoulder and Stiles stops at him name. 

“Stiles…you know I’m proud of you no matter what right?” There’s such a sincere look in his dad’s eyes, one that Stiles hasn’t seen for years. They don’t do serious talking, they haven’t for years. 

“Dad,” Stiles runs a hand over his short hair. 

“I just….” His dad drops his hand from Stiles’s shoulder and shrugs, “don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me,” he says finally and Stiles smiles at him, feeling suddenly older and yet much younger than his 19 and three quarter years. 

“Dad, I know I can,” he says gently and his dad nods, takes a sip of whiskey and nods again. 

“Ok,” he says and Stiles lets out a small laugh. 

“Ok,” Stiles replies and his dad smiles, claps Stiles on the shoulder and makes his way to the stairs. 

“Well…g’night then,” he calls over his shoulder. 

“I think I’m in love with Derek,” Stiles says, without thinking, the words falling from his mouth before he even knows what’s happening and he feels sick and his dad pauses mid step, fingers clutched around the glass and the hand rail of the stairs and he turns his head slowly to Stiles. 

“Well that wasn’t what I was expecting,” he says and Stiles grimaces. 

“I don’t know why I said that, ignore it, I must be running a fever,” Stiles puts his hand to his forehead, “yup, running a fever, delirious, talking rubbish, I…”

“Stiles,” his dad says, sounding resigned and tired suddenly and Stiles snaps his mouth shut, “you couldn’t have told me this when I wasn’t half way up the stairs to bed?” There’s a hint of a smile on his dad’s lips and Stiles bites on his own. 

“You go to bed, I’m good,” Stiles says, forcing cheeriness into his tone that he knows his dad will hear a mile away, “just thought I’d let you know, is all,” Stiles shrugs and his dad narrows his eyes at him. 

“You’re not getting away that easily young man, kitchen, now, and break out the beer,” the Sherriff grins at Stiles’s surprised expression but Stiles doesn’t argue when his dad makes a shooing motion with his hands. Hell, getting drunk with his dad can’t be that bad. Right? 

…

“Shit,” Stiles mutters as he trips for the third time on the stairs. 

“Language,” his dad replies, Stiles’s arm is slung over his dad’s shoulder and the ground pitches below his feet. 

“You’re my best friend you know that dad?” Stiles slurs as his dad pushes open his bedroom door. The bed rises up to meet him and Stiles feels his stomach churn as his dad pulls off his shoes. 

“I thought Scott was?” his dad asks and Stiles waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. Why is his dad sounding sober? 

“No, you are. Scott sucks,” he giggles and his dad hauls his jeans down his legs. “Think I could tell Scott anything I told you?” 

“Scott doesn’t know?”

“No, Scott wouldn’t like me dating his Alpha,” Stiles says, shifting, crawling, wriggling down under his duvet. 

“His what?” 

“Alpha,” Stiles mutters into his pillow, like its obvious. His eyes are tired.”Dad? Why doesn’t he want me?” he asks and there’s a hand on his head, fingers running through the short strands of his hair. 

“He’s obviously an idiot,” his dad mutters quietly and that’s the last thing Stiles remembers until he wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and the sinking feeling that he’s done something incredibly stupid. 

…

“Morning sunshine,” his dad is up, dressed, looking entirely too chipper for someone that got drunk with his newly out gay son last night. Then Stiles remembers that his father was sober last night and he glares through the haze of a headache. There’s coffee on the table and Stiles grabs a mug, pours it and gulps down a strong, black mouthful before putting cream and sugar in. 

“Why did you get me drunk?” he asks, cradling his mug in his hands as he sits at the table. 

“Because its easier to talk when you’re drunk,” his dad replies simply, getting up. Stiles puts his head into his hands and groans. 

“You’re a cruel man, and you broke the law.” 

“I’ll have myself arrested as soon as I get to work,” his dad replies from somewhere over his shoulder. 

“Good,” Stiles mutters, head landing softly on the table. There’s a clunk of a plate in front of him and he looks up to see a pile of eggs and bacon and his stomach growls angrily at him. “Oh and by the way,” he says picking up his fork, “we’re never talking about what we talked about last night again.” 

“Are you sure?” his dad asks, “because I am dying to hear just how ‘dreamy’ Derek Hale is again,” there’s a smirk on his dad’s lips and Stiles glares through a mouthful of bacon. 

“I hate you.” 

“No you don’t, eat your breakfast.” 

…

Despite the pounding behind his eyes, Stiles feels lighter as he makes his way to work. He decided not to go to college, despite his father’s disapproval, Scott had decided the same too. And Allison had been drafted into the family business. Only Lydia and Jackson had gone, but they were at State so they were around more often than not. Still going strong despite the happenings of High School, and more than one fumbling make out session with Stiles. Lydia that is, not Jackson. 

He loves his job though, it gives him time to think, also gives him access to the Reference section of the library and to the unlimited WiFi. It’s where he does most of his Mr Research work. And when he’s not hiding out in the Reference section day dreaming about a hot make out session with Derek between the stalls, he’s reading to kids in the kids section, letting the stories over take him as he forgets about everything else other than the words in front of him. 

The Library isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that he can hold hushed conversations with Scott over the phone without anyone over hearing. It’s got a high vaulted ceiling that’s decorated with murals, and sometimes Stiles likes to stand in the entrance hall and just stare up at it. 

It’s where Derek finds him that morning, getting dizzy from looking up and he stumbles as Derek’s hand touches his shoulder gently. 

“Oh hey,” Stiles shifts, feeling acutely embarrassed about his drunk confession to his dad last night, even though there is no way Derek would know about that. 

“Ok?” Derek asks, confused look on his face as he cocks his head to the side. 

“Yeah fine, little hungover, nothing a coke wont fix though,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and Derek frowns. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Stiles answers shortly, trying to keep his heartbeat in check. 

“You only get drunk when you have something on your mind,” and dammit Derek has a point, “or Scott’s been dumped…which he hasn’t. So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says again and Derek’s nostrils twitch like he’s trying to control anger. 

“Stiles,” he says warningly. 

“Derek,” Stiles mimics his tone, his own anger bubbling just below the surface. It’s not fair that Derek comes here now, when every single one of Stiles’s feelings is heightened by his _chat_ with his dad and his thumping hangover. 

“You’re lying, there’s something wrong.” Stiles sighs, he doesn’t have time for this. 

“Think about it Derek, what the hell do you think is wrong?” Stiles demands before spinning on his heel and storming towards Reference, like the overly dramatic girl that he obviously is. His soles squeak across the tiled floor and he hears Derek’s faint footsteps follow him. 

“You’re not still…” Derek asks as Stiles rounds one of the stalls, ducks out of eyesight of the Head Librarian’s disapproving look, as per usual. 

“Yes, I’m still,” Stiles snaps in hushed tones and a frown flickers across Derek’s face. 

“I thought you would have gotten over it,” Derek says and Stiles wants to punch him. Get over it? It’s not some school boy crush he can just turn on and off. No matter how much he wishes it is. 

“Yeah? Me to, sadly no dice though so…” he shrugs angrily and pushes past Derek. Derek’s hand closes around his wrist. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says and Stiles shakes himself free. 

“I have work to do Derek, so unless you want something…” he doesn’t wait for an answer. 

…

Jackson and Lydia are back. Because Derek’s getting the feeling there is something hinky going on. Stiles’s word by the way, not Derek’s. Lydia gives him a kiss on the cheek, her small hand cupping the other one as Jackson glares at him. And much to his surprise, so does Derek. Stiles frowns briefly, but smiles down at Lydia. 

“So what’s going on?” Jackson asks, tucking Lydia into his side. Lydia glares, elbows him in the ribs and he lets her go. 

“Boarder dispute,” Scott answers and Jackson raises an eyebrow. 

“Are we playing _Modern Warfare_ or a real boarder dispute?” He asks and Derek steps up and takes the stand. He’s got his Alpha voice on, low and commanding and he sees the way all three of them, Scott, Jackson and Lydia can do nothing but listen. 

“There’s a neighbouring pack, thinks that because I’m new to this, or new compared to their Alpha, they can encroach on our territory,” he says, his gaze flicking to Stiles. They haven’t spoken since the Library, a week ago, and Stiles, in his more maudlin moments, has felt the absence like a punch in the gut. When Jackson and Lydia are away, and Scott and Allison are pretending they are totally normal, Stiles more often than not finds himself with Derek, and even though he’s harbouring secret (or not so secret) feelings about the guy, it’s still an easy silence as Derek works putting the finishing touches to his refurbished house. It’s good now, more of a home, and Stiles feels more comfortable leaving Derek to sleep here than he did when they first starting these _Clubhouse Meetings_. Not that Stiles being uncomfortable about leaving Derek in a shell of a house would have made any difference to Derek. 

“So…are we going to show them who’s boss around here?” Jackson asks and Lydia rolls her eyes as she tosses a lock of red hair over her shoulder. 

“I need to know who they are first,” Derek says and looks at Stiles. 

“What? You want me to act as bait again?” Stiles snaps at Derek and Scott frowns like he’s starting to figure something out. 

“No,” Derek says softly enough that Stiles feels like a dick for snapping, “I want you out of the way.” 

The whole group goes silent, Allison’s hand on Scott’s knee keeps him from moving as Stiles blinks at Derek. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I want you out of the way,” Derek repeats, like he’s talking to a child and Stiles glares, feels anger bubble up to the surface. 

“And what about what I want?” He demands and Derek blinks, then narrows his eyes and Stiles get the feeling he’s trying to tell him to shut the hell up. Yeah? Well not right now, sorry Derek, ole buddy, ole pal, no can do. 

“Stiles,” Derek warns and Stiles shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“Ok, Jackson and I have to go,” Lydia stands suddenly, “we’ll come back tomorrow,” she looks pointedly at Jackson, then Allison, who stands up and tugs Scott out of his seat. Scott looks helplessly at Stiles but Stiles has got his glare trained at Derek. 

Derek’s glaring back as son as the door slams. 

“Don’t do that in front of them, this is between you and me,” he snaps and Stiles scoffs. 

“I thought there wasn’t anything between you and me?” he grabs at his jacket and pulls it over his shoulders. Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“You know what I mean,” he says and Stiles pulls his jacket back off and throws it over the back of the couch. 

“No actually Derek, I don’t,” he’s just so tired of this, of this boring dance. He doesn’t care that Derek doesn’t feel the same, he can get over that, eventually. He just wants this whole thing to stop. For Derek to tell him once and for all he doesn’t feel anything. 

“Does the fact that I want you out of the way mean nothing to you?” Derek asks and Stiles walks from the living room to the kitchen, remembers the way Derek’s fingers felt circled around his wrist all those years ago. 

“I know I’m not a wolf, next to useless, but Derek, come on…” Stiles begins, whirling around as he hears Derek pad quietly after him. He briefly wonders when he became so aware of Derek. Scott can still sneak up on him when he feels like it but Stiles always knows when Derek is there. 

“I don’t want you hurt Stiles,” Derek says quietly, like he’s talking to a spooked animal, he holds his hands out, palms upwards and takes a step towards him. 

“Because I can’t heal as quickly as you I get it but…”

“Stiles, shut up and listen to me,” Derek snaps, moving fast and pressing Stiles up against the counter. Stiles feels his own heart skip a beat and Derek’s eyes flick down to his mouth briefly, “I don’t want you getting hurt,” Derek says, slowly, pointedly, then lifts his hands gently and runs his thumbs across the tops of Stiles’s arms. He’s still looking at Stiles, like he’s waiting for something, for Stiles to say no, push him away, but Stiles can’t move. Derek’s hands move higher, his thumbs brushing over Stiles’s neck. 

“…oh…” Stiles breathes out and Derek’s lips curl at the corners slightly. 

“Yeah…oh,” Derek answers, his smile getting a little bigger and suddenly Stiles is furious. 

“You son of a bitch,” he pushes at Derek’s chest, and Derek stumbles backwards, his face falling and his eyes flash red for a second. “All this time?” Stiles demands and resists the urge to punch him. Derek looks confused for a second, gets himself under control and stands straight, looks right at Stiles and Stiles stares right back at him. 

“Since Peter,” Derek says, “since he…touched you.” The memory of Peter makes Stiles shudder and Derek takes a step forward. Stiles ducks to the side. 

“You never said,” he says and Derek frowns, clenches his hands at his sides and then shoves them into his pockets. 

“I did you just didn’t listen,” Derek replies and Stiles scoffs again, ager draining back into his body and he storms past Derek into the living room. 

“Oh well that’s convenient isn’t it?” he snaps, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. 

“Stiles,” Derek reaches out and curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, tugs him close and traps him flush against his body. Something surges inside Stiles as Derek lowers his head and presses their mouths together almost savagely, like he’s trying to demand calm from Stiles by kissing him. There is a small part of Stiles’s brain that is screaming at him, _Derek’s kissing you, kiss back you idiot_ , but there’s the louder part, the part that’s angry that Derek never told him, the part that’s been hurt since Derek told him to go home two years ago, the part that mopes whenever Derek touches him and then doesn’t speak to him for a week. The part that thought Derek was disgusted with the reaction from Stiles whenever Derek touched him. 

“Get off me,” Stiles pushes at him hard, pulls his hand back and strikes, his fist connecting with Derek’s jaw with a sickening crunch that he knows is going to hurt him more than it hurts Derek. Derek goes with the punch, turns his head with momentum but doesn’t stumble and looks back at Stiles with red in his eyes. 

“Don’t make me angry Stiles,” there’s a warning in his voice and if Stiles’s wasn’t so angry right now he might be scared, but he’s so furious he can hardly think straight. 

“Why? Because you’ll waste another two years of our lives?” he spits and Derek lets out a small growl from the back of his throat, stepping closer to Stiles. 

“No because I take what I want when I’m angry,” he answers, his voice low and Stiles heads for the door. 

“I’ve been wanting you to take it for four years you asshole,” he shouts, wrenches the door open and slams it shut, his hands shaking as he hears the unmistakable sound of wood splintering behind the closed door. 

He makes it back to his home without crashing the jeep. And luckily his dad is working nights. There’s a message from Scott blinking on his computer but he ignores it, throws himself down onto his bed and tries to ignore the fact he can still feel Derek’s lips against his own. 

…

“Dude what the hell was that last night?” Stiles blinks awake, Scott’s bouncing on his knees on the end of Stiles’s bed and Stiles groans, hauls his duvet over his head and tries to kick Scott off. “You know you want to tell me,” Scott sings, hauling the duvet off and Stiles glares at him.

“Did Allison tell you to come talk to me?” he asks and Scott has the grace to look embarrassed for a second. 

“Ok, she did but I would have come anyway, because I may be a dumbass when it comes to our friendship most of the time but even I could see there was something up last night?” 

“Yeah? What tipped you off? The shouting?” Stiles asks, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face. 

“That,” Scott answers, “and the sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife,” he says, getting off the bed and throwing a pair of jeans at Stiles’s head. 

“Allison?” Stiles asks, pulling the jeans off his face and glaring again and Scott rifles through his drawer to find a t-shirt. 

“No that was actually all me, Allison just confirmed my suspicions,” Scott looks pleased with himself. “How long has it been going on?” Now he looks genuinely hurt and Stiles swallows down the slight stab of guilt. 

“Nothing’s going on, or four years, depending on how you look at it,” Scott blinks.

“Huh?” 

“Eloquent as ever Scott,” Stiles quips, snatching at the t-shirt that’s hanging loosely in Scott’s hand, “nothing has been going on for four years,” he says again and is still greeted with a blank expression from his best friend. He sighs and pulls on his jeans. “Really? I have to spell it out? Fine, but I need coffee first.” 

…

“So you’re gay?” Stiles chokes on his coffee. 

“No,” he answers automatically, then frowns to himself, “yes…maybe? I dunno,” he shrugs finally. It was easier to talk to his dad, although of course there had been a large amount of alcohol involved then, and now he’s stone cold sober in the cold light of day and Scott’s looking at him like he might have grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead, “does it matter?” 

“I guess not,” Scott answers, shrugs, then grins at Stiles, “the girls will love it.” 

“Shut up,” Stiles groans and Scott nudges his elbow into Stiles’s side.

“Come on man, it’s no big deal,” he says and Stiles wants to go back to bed, he wants to curl up and pretend nothing happened last night, wants to pretend that he’s not having this conversation with Scott right now, on an empty stomach. 

“Yeah right, easy for you to say it’s no big deal, what about…hang on? It’s no big deal?” Scott grins at him and claps him on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, no big deal. You’re my best friend and I love you,” Stiles gags and Scott pushes at his shoulder. 

“I’m gay dude, not a girl.” 

…

Stiles is thinking that this might be the most supportive Scott has even been, up to and including the time his mom died. He listens, when Stiles wants to talk that is, and he nods in the right places and doesn’t once mention Allison. And Stiles starts smiling back at him at around three in the afternoon. 

“You do realise you should talk to him, right?” Scott says, legs crossed under him at the foot of the bed as he shoots the little computer generated Stiles in the head. Stiles winces, respawns, and throws a grenade at Scott. 

“Doesn’t mean I will,” Stiles replies and Scott pauses the game and turns around to look reproachfully at him. Since when did Scott manage to become reproachful? “He…” Stiles starts and swallows, and Scott looks encouragingly at him, “kissed me last night.” 

“Ewww,” Scott turns the noise into a cough at Stiles’s glare, “sorry. Sorry…please continue,” he waves his hands in front of Stiles. 

“He’s waited four years Scott, I’m pissed at him,” he says sulkily.

“I thought patience was a virtue,” Scott answers, with a new and sudden sage like wisdom that has Stiles feeling very uncomfortable. 

“Not when it means I have to live vicariously through you and Allison and Lydia and Jackson, and not when it means we could have been…”

“Ok I get it,” Scott interrupts, “I get it. Ok, so you’re pissed because he’s wasted time. Ever think that maybe he was scared?” Stiles snorts, “no seriously, like, maybe he wasn’t sure how you felt and ok…so…the last time he put himself out there with someone, his family got burned so, you can’t really blame him for not wanting to…put himself out there again, right?” Stiles closes his mouth that’s hanging open at Scott’s words. For once in his life he has a point, and it makes sense, and he looks ridiculously please with himself. Stiles narrows his eyes slightly. 

“Did Allison tell you that?” 

“No again, that one was all me,” he says and Stiles grins at his friend. 

“Way to go dude,” he holds his hand out for a high five which Scott moves to reciprocate. 

“Wait…does this mean you’ll go speak to him?” Scott asks, holding his hand up but out of Stiles’s reach. Stiles sighs, rolls his eyes, had ignores the flutter in his stomach at the thought of seeing Derek. 

“Fine.” 

“Good,” Scott grins, slapping his palm against Stiles’s. 

…

Scott leaves at 6.30, leaves Stiles with a whirring head and the inability to think straight. He hasn’t had an attack like this for years, finding that spending time in the Library, and being Mr Research helps calm him down mostly, but he’s twitching right now, leg bouncing as he sits on the end of his bed and stares at his phone wonder what the hell to do. 

He’s slightly pissed that it took Scott mentioning it to make him realise part of the reason Derek hadn’t said anything. Stiles had just thought he didn’t feel anything, that he snatched his hand away and didn’t speak to Stiles whenever he touched him because it was an accident, and he was reacting to the way Stiles froze and sometimes leaned into the touch. Nothing to do with the fact that he was trying to keep himself closed off from everyone and everything. 

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering when the hell his life became so complicated. It used to be simple right? Before all the werewolf stuff. Go to school, dream about dating Lydia, dream about graduating high school and leaving Beacon Falls, getting a job that paid a fortune for doing nothing to keep Lydia in the life she had become accustomed to. Now it’s all werewolves hunters and boarder disputes and coming out. He sighs and nearly drops his phone as he hears the gentle thud of Derek landing on his bedroom floor. 

“Ok,” Stiles stars after getting his heartbeat under control, “so I’ve been thinking, I’m sorry I punched you, I’m sorry I was pissed, its just that I wasted four years of my life thinking that you didn’t like me, and I know four years isn’t a long time,” Derek cocks his head to the side, a blank expression on his face, “but for me it is, and I’ve been trying to come to terms with this and you’ve just been all stoic and starey like normal and I just…” 

“Stiles for once in your life shut up,” Derek says as he steps quickly and fluid like water up to Stiles, hauls him to his feet and kisses him hard. Stiles doesn’t have a chance to think, just goes with it, clutches at Derek’s arms as Derek’s tongue licks into his mouth and Stiles groans. Derek’s hand is a warm, solid presence at his lower back, pressing him closer to Derek’s hard chest and even though he can practically feel Derek’s heart beating through his own chest, Stiles doesn’t think they’re close enough. Derek’s hand moves, snakes under his t-shirt and his nail scratch lightly across his skin, Stiles groans again, curling his own hand up and around Derek’s neck, fingers playing at the soft hair there. 

Derek pulls away, all too soon, his eyes closed as he breathes heavily through his nose, fingers curling against Stiles’s skin, and Stiles feels his nails slightly longer, pressing just shy of hard enough to break the skin. 

“No, why are you stopping?” Stiles groans, tugging at Derek’s neck and Derek opens his eyes. Stiles catches a flash of red before they go back to normal. 

“Because you make me crazy,” Derek replies in a voice low and slightly dangerous. 

“You’ve always been crazy,” Stiles answers and Derek’s lips quirk upwards at one side. He steps away from Stiles. 

“I just…” he starts, shakes himself and looks back at Stiles like nothings just happened, like he didn’t just kiss the life out of Stiles and leaving wanting a hell of a lot more. “We’ve got a problem.” 

“What kind of problem?” Stiles asks getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. Derek’s expression remains irritatingly impassive as he looks at Stiles, just a hint of interest in his eyes as Stiles licks at his bottom lip and tastes Derek. 

“The kind of problem where I ask you to stay out of the way and you no doubt ignore me,” Derek replies and Stiles lets out a small laugh.

“At least now you’re getting the hang of how I work,” Derek frowns, cups his hand around Stiles’s face and runs his thumb under his eyes. 

“I mean it Stiles,” he says and lets go, makes his way over to the window. 

“So you came over here to tell me to stay here? You do realise that if you hadn’t come over here then I wouldn’t have known anything was going and would have just stayed here, ergo, you fucked this up,” Stiles takes a breath and Derek’s nostrils twitch. 

“Stiles…” 

“What’s going on?” Stiles steps up to him and runs his fingers over the clenched knuckles on Derek’s hand. Derek’s eyes close briefly and he turns his hand, opens his palm and Stiles runs his fingers over it. Derek’s curls his fingers around Stiles’s. 

“Meeting with the others,” Derek says and Stiles tugs experimentally on his hand. Derek doesn’t let go, just holds on with his firm grip and Stiles steps closer.

“The others being…?” Stiles asks, trailing off as Derek winds an arm around his waist and pulls him flush against him. 

“The other pack,” Derek mutters, lowering his head to Stiles’s neck and biting gently on the skin over Stiles’s rapidly increasing pulse.

“And you’re here because?” Stiles asks as Derek slides his lips across Stiles’s jaw, his stubble catching on Stiles’s skin, making him shiver against Derek’s chest. 

“Because,” Derek answers, like that’s an answer and Stiles uses all of his will power to push him away. 

“Oh no, no, you are _not_ using your lupine wiles on me,” he shakes his fingers at Derek, who cracks a brief smile before narrowing his eyes. 

“Don’t make me tie you up Stiles,” and Stiles can’t help the spike of arousal that licks up his spine at that and Derek sways slightly. “Jesus Stiles, don’t.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” he protests weakly and then Derek’s mouth is over his again and a soft growls rumbles through Derek’s chest. 

“Everything you feel you broadcast Stiles,” he mutters against Stiles’s mouth, kisses him again then pulls back completely and shoves his hands into his pockets, like that will stop him from touching Stiles. “You are staying here, _safe_ , or so help me Stiles…” Stiles should be used to it by now, how quickly Derek can move when he wants to, or needs to, but Stiles finds himself with his back against the bedroom door and Derek’s mouth rough against his own in a second and he grunts as his head hits the back of the door, Derek’s hands pushing up his t-shirt and running up his ribs , his mouth hot and wet against Stiles’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “Promise me Stiles,” he mutters against the hollow of Stiles’s throat, “promise,” he growls and Stiles grips at his thick hair and tugs Derek up, looking him in the eye. 

“Promise,” he says and pulls Derek back to him. Derek pulls him off the door, spins them and shoves Stiles onto his bed, crawls over him with hunger in his eyes. 

“Say it again,” Derek demands and Stiles swallows, winds his hands into Derek’s hair and pulls him down to kiss him, mutters “promise” against his mouth before pushing his tongue in. Derek groans, runs a hand up Stiles’s ribs, over his t-shirt, up his arm and curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, pushes it over his head and Stiles feels the bite of cold metal just as he hears the distinctive click of his stolen handcuffs closing. Derek pulls away and sits back across Stiles’s thighs.

“Ok, I wasn’t meaning right now with the tying up but whatever floats your boat Derek,” Stiles tries to smirk through the slight shudder of fear at Derek’s dark expression. 

“You’re lying,” he says, “about staying here, I heard your heart skip,” Stiles tugs against the handcuffs. 

“Derek, I can help,” he whines and tries to buck Derek off. 

“No, you’re staying here,” he orders and gets up, nods once and is out of the window before Stiles can answer him. 

“Goddammit.” 

…

Stiles has just about given up, he’s got a crick in his neck from straining to reach a discarded paperclip on his desk, and a sore hand from trying to pull the handcuffs off, when he hears footsteps on the stairs and his dad shouting for him. His whole stomach bottoms out when he remembers his dad’s habit of not knocking. And just as he’s thinking that, his door flies open and his dad’s face drains of colour. 

“Oh God,” the door then slams shut and Stiles can feel his face burning. 

“Dad…it’s…I swear, it’s not what it looks like,” he calls and his dad cracks the door open and his face appears, eyes clamped shut. 

“You sure?” 

“Pretty damn sure,” Stiles mutters, cheeks still flaming but feeling decidedly sorry for himself. Not only did Derek handcuff to his bed, but his father then finds him. How the hell is he going to explain this. 

“Um…” his dad rubs at the back of his neck.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Stiles says again. 

“You said that already, feel like telling me what it is?” His dad asks, still not looking directly at him. Stiles tries to sit as dignifiedly as he can given the fact his hand is cuffed to his own bed. 

“Well firstly, I’m fully clothed so nothing _inappropriate_ going on. Obviously. Secondly…. _huge_ misunderstanding…big joke, Scott’s fault, do you have keys?” His dad raises an eyebrow.

“Probably,” his dad answers, “but I’m thinking I should just leave you there as a lesson to your own stupidity. Why let Scott handcuff you to your bed?” Stiles heaves an internal sigh of relief that his dad bought the story and rattles the cuffs. 

“Because I’m an idiot…keys?” His dad’s smirk gets a little bigger and he crosses his arms. 

“You know, if you’re going to practise this kind of thing with _partners_ then you’re going to have to pick a safe word,” there’s a laugh threatening at the corner of his dad’s mouth but Stiles can’t help but blush. 

“Oh God, you did _not_ just say that,” Stiles groans and grabs his pillow with his free hand and throws it in his dad’s direction. “Dad, come on, let me out, it’s life or death,” he whines, rattling the cuffs again. 

“It always is with you and Scott,” he grins, “ok, fine, give me a minute,” he shuts the door again and Stiles hears him laugh as he walks down the stairs to get his cuff keys. 

…

Three quarters of an hour later Stiles is freezing his butt off in the woods and still groaning every now and then at the look his father gave him. He knows that his dad knows that Stiles wasn’t telling him the truth and he also knows that there is going to be an epic man to man chat when he eventually makes it home but right now, he's got his jacket wrapped around him and he's trudging through the woods to Derek's house. 

Mostly he's pissed at Derek, for handcuffing him to his bed and for keeping him out of things like this. He may not have the strength of a wolf but he can help. Probably. 

“Bet Allison's there,” he grumbles to himself as he steps up to Derek's door. It's half open and Stiles frowns as he pushes it all the way and steps inside. 

Nothing happens and he frowns even more. Derek's usually on him the second he walks through the door. Well not _on him_ , they've only just got to that part of their relationship after all, but he's usually there, coming through the nearest doorway, or appearing at the top of the stairs almost like he senses Stiles is there. But he's nowhere to be seen right now. 

“Derek?” Stiles spins at the soft scraping sound behind him, there's nothing there and the door sways slightly on its hinges in the cold draft. “Derek come on. I'm pissed at you but that’s no need to hide,” he shouts, his nerves kicking up a notch as the door slams. “Shit.” He needs to get it together. Derek is obviously not here, neither are the others, so, according to Stiles’s skills of deduction, they’re probably in the woods. He takes a deep breath, shakes out his hands and shoves one into his pocket, pulls open the door with the other and heads out into the woods. The dark cold wood. Alone. 

Great idea Stiles. 

He’s just about given up when he hears it, the unmistakeable sound of Derek growling, a warning growl, and apparently Stiles has gotten so used to Derek growling that he can now tell the difference, not only between him and Scott and Jackson, but between the different moods as well. He frowns slightly and heads in the direction of the noise. Derek’s growl is joined by Scott’s and Jackson’s and Stiles briefly wonders if Lydia and Allison are there too. 

As he makes his way up to a clearing where he can see lights and hear more growling, Stiles ducks behind a bush and manages to get a view as someone launches themselves at Derek, that someone’s face hairy and wolf like. Stiles swallows down the panic and the worry as Derek meets him, rolls and pins him to the ground. Even from this distance Stiles can see the red of Derek’s eyes, and the way Jackson and Scott step forward to protect their Alpha. Stiles looks around, up to the branches covering them and catches a glimpse of Allison as she makes her way across a thick branch, crossbow slung across her back, and Lydia is there, standing behind Jackson and Scott but looking no less fierce than the others. 

There’s a howl of pain from Derek and Stiles stands from his hiding place, watches with horror as the other Alpha’s pack descends on Scott, Jackson and Lydia. And arrow flies through the air with a _swish_ and lands, imbedded in one of the other wolf’s arms. He howls too but Stiles has only got eyes for Derek, and the way he shifts backwards, away from the other Alpha. He’s saying something but Stiles can’t make it out above the noise of the others fighting, but Derek looks to his side, catches sight of Stiles and his expression is blank. 

“Hey dick weed,” Stiles cups his hands over his mouth as the other Alpha pulls his arm back like he’s going to slash at Derek and panic takes over. The other Alpha stops, turns towards Stiles and Derek gets the advantage, kicks out with his legs and sends him sprawling and then he’s on the guy, teeth bared and nails long and sharp. 

A hand closes around Stiles’s throat, pulls him back against a hard, strong body and lifts him slightly. Stiles struggles but the hand tightens, fingernails almost breaking the skin as whoever it is, walks them into the clearing. Derek freezes, hands around the other Alpha’s throat, eyes red and unreadable. 

“Drop him,” the guy holding Stiles says and Stiles’s vision is blurring around the edges slightly. He sees Scott glances at Derek and Derek just keeps on staring impassively at the guy holding Stiles. And for one horrible moment Stiles thinks he’s not going to do anything, that he’s going to let this guy squeeze the life out of him. “Either you let him go, or I turn this one…or kill him, you decide.” 

“He’s nothing to do with this,” Derek says and the guy squeezes his hand around Stiles’s throat harder. Stiles’s fingers catch on his skin as he scrabbles at the hand around him and Derek remains the epitome of calm. The guy lifts Stiles, and Stiles’s vision blurs completely. 

Derek blinks, throws the Alpha to the floor with a snarl. He holds his hands up just as Stiles feels himself slipping, his vision turning black as Derek nods at someone high up and Stiles goes flying. 

…

“Stiles, breathe, dammit,” Derek’s voice reaches Stiles and he gasps, heaving in a breath, lungs protesting as he chokes and Derek’s hand is a warm presence at his back, rubbing circles as Stiles tries to rid his body of his lungs, his hands clutching at Derek’s jacket, “I got you.” 

There’s a pounding behind Stiles’s eyes and his throat feels like he’s been shouting for hours. But Derek’s hand is warm and it slips up, curls around the back of his neck and squeezes gently. 

“What?” Stiles manages to croak out and Scott’s suddenly hovering in his vision. 

“You got thrown against a tree,” he announces, Allison hanging behind him looking worried, with a smudges of something dark, could be mud, could be blood, across her cheek. Lydia’s got a twig sticking out of her hair and she’s brushing leaves off her jacket and Jackson is looking bored, Stiles looks back at Derek expecting to see anything other than what he does. 

Derek looks furious. Jaw set, teeth clenched, eyes burning _furious_ as he winds a hand under Stiles’s legs and stands, holding Stiles like a baby. 

“I can…” Derek cuts him off with a short snarl, “ok grumpy,” he mutters and Derek’s fingers tense against his thigh. 

“Right, so we’re good to go right? Like we saved the princess,” Jackson nods at Stiles who weakly gives him the finger, trying to look dignified cuddled up in Derek’s arms, “and the pack so can I like…go home, cos I’m bored now,” Lydia smacks at his arm but Derek nods and he hauls her away, she blows a kiss in Stiles’s direction and disappears into the night with Jackson. 

“We’ll head off, call us if you need anything,” Allison tugs on Scott’s arm. 

“You ok Stiles?” he asks and steps back when Derek turns to look at him. 

“I got this,” Derek snarls and Scott’s grimaces at Stiles and lets Allison tug him away. 

“What is your problem?” Stiles asks, shifting in Derek’s arms, feeling uncomfortable about being carried despite the recent throwing against a tree issue. And although Derek’s chest is warm and surprisingly comfortable, Stiles would be more than happy to walk, especially if it meant saving face in front of Scott and Jackson. Not that he’s got much face to save right now. “Put me down,” he wriggles and Derek drops him angrily. 

“You idiot,” he snaps and Stiles takes a step back. 

“What?” he glares and Derek glares back. 

“You…why do you never listen to anything I say?” Derek says, exasperated, his voice rising with anger. 

“I don’t have to. Remember? I’m not your pack,” Stiles spits angrily, hurt at being left out, hurt at feeling useless and not worth anything coming out as Derek throws his hands up then runs them through his hair. 

“You…”

“No, you handcuff me to my bed, by the way my dad found me thanks for that, and you expect me to leave you all out here with no back up?” Stiles shouts and Derek’s eyes flash in the darkness. 

“You got thrown against a tree Stiles, what kind of back up is that?” he counters and Stiles thanks the darkness that Derek can’t see his flush of embarrassment. 

“Oh so now I’m helpless?” 

“You did nothing to help Stiles, nothing,” Derek says angrily, throwing the fact that Stiles is nothing g more than a useless human in his face, “in fact you hindered, and you put everyone else’s life in danger, and you expect thanks for it?” Derek takes a step forward and Stiles takes one back, his back hitting the nearest tree as Derek takes another step towards him. 

“You arrogant…”

“You nearly died Stiles,” Derek growls loudly, fingers closing around Stiles’s arms and there’s worry in his eyes, unsaid words and fear and Stiles feels the fight go out of him almost instantly. 

“Oh,” 

“Yeah…oh…you may not care anything for your safety Stiles, but I do,” Derek lets him go so suddenly that Stiles stumbles, his hand going straight to Derek’s chest to keep himself upright. Derek’s heartbeat is strong against his palm and Derek’s eyes go dark and he hauls Stiles close, covers his mouth with his own and pushes his tongue inside. It tastes of desperation, a hint of fear as Derek groans, his hand flat against Stiles’s back, pulling him flush to him, before pushing him back against the tree, Derek’s body hot and hard against his own, pining him to the rough bark. Stiles just goes with it, kissing Derek back with as much desperation because he thought Derek was going to get hurt. Derek, the strong one, the one who looks after everyone else, so Stiles had to do something. Derek’s other hand, the one not flat against his back, cradles his cheek, almost gently, his thumb rubbing softly against Stiles’s skin in complete contrast to the almost angry kiss and the hard pressure of his other hand. 

“I just,” Derek starts as his mouth slides against Stiles’s jaw, his hand trailing round and he presses a thumb under Stiles’s chin, tips his head back, “you matter Stiles,” he says again, like he did in his kitchen years ago, his hand curled around Stiles’s wrist and Stiles groans as Derek’s teeth scrape across his pulse, “don’t do that again.” 

“Do what?” Derek’s hand twitches, fingers curling into the skin of Stiles’s neck. 

“Don’t put yourself in danger Stiles, don’t make me worry,” Derek’s all quiet intensity when he pulls back and looks at Stiles, and Stiles feels light headed all of a sudden. He sways, clamps his eyes shut and feels the world shift under his feet as Derek scoops him back up. “Don’t argue,” he growls and Stiles just nods, feeling tired, lips tingling from Derek’s kiss, and a little sick with adrenaline. He lets his head fall against Derek’s shoulder and because there’s no one else watching, lets himself be lulled to sleep by the steady movement. 

…

It’s the pounding in his head that wakes him, that and a crash from the kitchen followed by a muffled growl and a muttered curse. And Stiles runs his hands over his short hair and rubs at the back of his neck as he stands, clamps his eyes together and waits, swaying slightly, for the initial pain in his head to pass. 

He’s still reeling when he makes it to the kitchen and Derek’s naked back and tattoo greet him. He lets himself watch him for a minute, the way he moves and the way the muscles in his back ripple as he twists. He turns though and catches sight of Stiles and frowns. 

“Why did you let me sleep?” Stiles asks and Derek’s frown deepens between his eyes. 

“You needed it,” he replies, holding out a steaming mug of something that smells like chicken soup. Stiles’s stomach growls in reply. 

“You do realise you shouldn’t let people sleep when they have a suspected concussion?” Stiles says, blows across the top of his mug and Derek licks at his lips. 

“Not an idiot,” he counters, “but you passed out from lack of oxygen before you got thrown into the tree,” he says impassively, the shadow crossing his face the only indication that he feels anything. 

“The headache?” 

“Lack of oxygen, the blood vessels in your head expanded to get more oxygen to your brain, causing swelling and pressure…hence the headache,” Derek says in a tone that sounds bored except his fingers twitch like he wants to touch Stiles and Stiles puts down his mug and takes a step towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says and Derek looks sharply up at him. “I don’t apologise for being an idiot enough so don’t get used to it, but I’m sorry,” he says again and Derek frowns once more, reaches out to Stiles and then lets his hands drop. Stiles sighs, because they should be passed this now. He takes a step forward and touches Derek, runs his fingers down Derek’s arm and Derek’s muscles twitch. And then as if a dam has broken Derek surges forward, pulls Stiles close and kisses him, its possessive, deep and passionate but there’s still a hint of worry, Derek’s holding back unwilling to hurt Stiles. 

“I thought…” Derek’s voice rumbles through his chest as he holds Stiles’s face close, his breath tickling across Stiles’s lips, “I saw you…” he’s searching for the words, the stoic werewolf is searching for the right words to say because he wants to say them for Stiles and Stiles’s chest hurts. He leans up and presses their mouths together again, groans into the kiss and Derek’s fingers curls around the back of his neck. 

“It’s ok,” Stiles mutters and Derek shakes his head slightly.

“You never _listen_ ,” Derek stresses the word.

“Well to be fair,” Stiles pulls away enough to look him in the eye, “if you’d said ‘I want you out of danger because I care about you’ I might have at least thought about it before I came after you,” Derek’s lips twitch at the corner but his eyebrow raises like he’s reading between the lines and hearing the unsaid _I would have still come anyway_. “Did to ever occur to you, Mr I Have To Protect Everyone, that I cam because I care about you?” Stiles pokes a finger into Derek’s bare chest as Derek frowns. 

“You’re stubborn,” he says and Stiles nods. 

“Yeah, that too,” Stiles grins and tugs on the belt loops on Derek’s jeans, “so we’re past the whole ‘I like you, you like me’ thing, think we can get to some nakedness right now?” Derek’s eyes darken, his grip tightens but he shakes his head. 

“No,” and Stiles’s whole body goes cold as he goes to step away, stomach twisting with the fear that he might have got all this wrong. But Derek holds him, hot palm against the flat of his back, “not here…bedroom.” 

Stiles is pretty impressed that he manages to make his way upstairs without a) tripping over in haste to get there, or b) coming in his own pants when Derek stops him halfway up the stairs and kisses him like he wants to do it right there, presses their hips together and groans into Stiles’s mouth. But thankfully for Stiles’s pants he pulls back, slaps Stiles’s thigh and nods his head in the direction of the bedroom. His grin is almost a mile wide and Stiles could get used to this playful Derek. 

The atmosphere changes the second they get into Derek’s bedroom, it drops to serious and Stiles bites on his bottom lip as Derek stalks forward and curls his fingers around the hem of Stiles’s t-shirt. He tugs it over Stiles’s head and drops it to the floor. 

“Why are you shirtless?” Stiles asks suddenly and Derek looks surprised and takes half a step back. 

“You drooled on mine,” he says with a haunted look and Stiles reaches forward and tugs him close by the belt loops again. 

“Well that’s embarrassing,” he says, feeling his cheeks flush slightly and Derek cups his face in his larger hands, thumbs running across his cheeks and he looks down at Stiles and searches his face. “I’m sorry,” Stiles says and he’s apologising for more than just drooling on Derek’s shirt and Derek pauses for a second then nods and Stiles knows he gets that. 

He thought he would babble, spout nonsense because he always does when he’s nervous but Stiles realises, with sudden clarity as Derek tugs on his belt and pulls it free from his jeans, that he’s not nervous, he’s eager, but there are no nerves here, he’s been waiting for Derek to catch up, or to give in, for years now. Derek runs the back of his knuckles across Stiles’s stomach, curls his fingers around the waist band, his nails scraping at the skin slightly. Stiles shudders and Derek’s lips curl into a smile as he runs his hands around Stiles’s hips and pushes his jeans down his thighs. Normally, he would be embarrassed about standing, half naked, more than likely with a rather obvious half hard dick tenting his boxers, in front of someone but Derek tugs on his hands, presses one to cup around Derek and Stiles feels his mirroring erection in his hand. Derek’s eyes flutter closed as Stiles curls his fingers slightly and the groan that falls from his lips is enough to have Stiles fumbling with Derek’s button and fly, pushing his jeans down to the floor. 

And of course Derek goes commando. 

Of course he does. 

Stiles swallows a surge of nerves hitting him now he’s face to face with the member he’s been dreaming of for the last four years. Hard and curving upwards towards Derek’s stomach, a drop of moisture on the tip and Derek steps close, his hand flat against Stiles’s back again.

“Ok?” And even in those two syllables Stiles can hear worry in Derek’s voice. 

“Amazing,” he answers, even though there is a lingering headache behind his eyes and his stomach flutters uncomfortably. Derek’s hands circle his waist.

“I’m at a disadvantage,” Derek mutters, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over Stiles’s hip and Stiles snorts. 

“ _You’re_ at a disadvantage?” 

“Well,” Derek replies, hooking his thumbs into Stiles’s boxers, “I’m naked, you’re not,” and with that he sinks to his knees and pulls the boxers with him. 

In all the fantasies that Stiles has had about Derek, and he’s had a lot, they have never quite lived up to the reality of Derek on his knees and smiling up at Stiles. Mostly because in Stiles’s fantasies, it’s usually Stiles on his knees instead. Derek taps at his ankle and Stiles steps out of his jeans and boxers and then Derek leans forward, hands braced against Stiles’s hips, and bites at the soft skin of his thigh. Gently, just a scrape of teeth but Stiles jumps, his hands going to Derek’s hair and winding into the surprisingly soft strands. 

“So now we’re on equal ground,” Derek says, his breath brushing against the tip of Stiles’s dick and Stiles pushes his hips forward. Derek’s hands around him stop him from going too far. 

“Equal ground?” he asks, his voice sounding like he’s been shouting for hours, already, “You probably know exactly what you’re doing, I have no idea,” and it takes him until he’s finished to realise that Derek’s hands aren’t on him anymore, and he’s leaning back, looking up at Stiles with a carefully masked expression. Stiles drops to his knees in front of him, “doesn’t mean I’m not sure,” he says and feels the muscles in Derek’s thighs relax under his hands. 

“Ok, I think bed now,” Derek stands and Stiles is face to face with…well Derek’s penis. 

“Um…” Stiles says eloquently and Derek holds his hand out to him. Stiles shakes his head, rises on his knees and looks up at Derek, “tell me what to do,” he says and Derek’s lets out a breath. 

“Jesus Stiles,” Derek runs a thumb across Stiles’s lower lip, “you don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” Stiles says, stubbornly, because dammit he’s spent four years wondering what Derek would taste like, wondering if he would like it, if he could do it and he’s not about to turn away from this right now, not when it’s literally staring him in the face. He inches forward, rubs his cheek across Derek’s thigh.

“Just,” Derek starts as Stiles lets out a breath across Derek’s dick and Derek’s fingers curl around the back of his neck, “just…mind the teeth,” there’s a hint of a laugh in his voice. 

“Coming from you, that’s almost ironic…but got it,” Stiles licks his lips, leans forward enough to lick at the tip of Derek’s dick and Derek’s hand tightens almost painfully at his shoulder. He tastes, almost bitter, not unpleasant though, slightly salty and he folds his lips back over his teeth and sucks the head into his mouth. Derek growls softly in the back of his throat, so Stiles takes more of him in, hums at the unfamiliar taste and swallows. Derek just about digs his fingers through the skin of Stiles’s shoulder and the other hand slides across his short hair, like he’s trying to find something to hold onto. 

He’s doing ok, he thinks, he hasn’t gagged and Derek’s making good noises from above him but all too soon, just as Stiles is getting into it and he slides a hand between his thighs to curls around the base of his own dick, Derek pushes at his shoulder and steps half back. He’s chest heaves as Stiles looks up at him, worry pitting low in his stomach and Derek hauls him to his feet and kisses him hard, like he’s trying to lick the taste of himself from Stiles’s mouth. 

“Stiles,” Derek sighs against his mouth and Stiles can feel him shaking slightly, “so good,” his voice trembles a bit, “don’t want it to be over too soon,” he says as he pulls back and smiles at Stiles and then pushes him towards the bed. The worry in Stiles’s stomach dissipates as Derek turns him around to face him and shoves against his shoulders. Stiles falls into an inelegant heap but Derek’s eyes have gone darker and he doesn’t seem to care as Stiles shifts and Derek crawls over him. Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s arms, the muscles moving slightly under his palms and Derek just watches him, eyes dark yet unreadable. 

“You know,” he says conversationally, settling himself over Stiles and shifting his hips so his dick, slick with Stiles’s saliva, slides across Stiles’s. Stiles nearly bites through his lips, hands clutching at Derek’s shoulders, “one might think you had done that before,” Derek shifts again, ruts against Stiles and Stiles feels his skin prickle with sweat, even though the room is cool. 

“No,” Stiles gasps as Derek reaches between them and wraps his hand around both of them, sliding his thumb over the slit in Stiles’s dick. 

“Good,” Derek growls softly again, lowering his head to Stiles’s neck, squeezing at the base of their dicks hard enough that Stiles bites down on Derek’s shoulder. There’s a growl that rumbles at Stiles’s neck and Derek lifts his head, a brief flash of red and slightly longer teeth and Stiles’s stomach flips with fear and arousal. 

Derek slides his hand up them both, twists once and Stiles feels his orgasm build in his stomach, his skin tingling as Derek mouths at his pulse again, teeth sliding dangerously across his skin and Derek twists once more and Stiles stiffens, whole body going taught as he comes with a shout over Derek’s hand and his own belly. 

“Yes,” Derek mutters against his throat, fucks into his own hand, his dick sliding across Stiles’s is almost too much, too soon, but then Derek jerks, comes too, hot and sticky and his teeth scrape across Stiles’s skin again. 

“Well…” Stiles starts and Derek clamps a hand over his mouth. 

“Don’t ruin it,” he mutters, voice thick, breath hot and wet against Stiles’s neck. Derek lifts his head and his eyes are back to normal, they’re softer though as he looks at Stiles, shifts to the side and pulls Stiles back against him. Derek’s arm is hot and heavy around him, and Stiles can feel his heart beating against his beck and he shifts, feels his sweaty skin slide against Derek’s. He likes the feel so he shifts again and Derek tightens his grip and licks at the skin of his neck. “Are you going to be like this every time?” 

“There’s going to be more?” 

“You’re such an idiot,” Derek mutters and presses his nose to the back of Stiles’s neck, “go to sleep.” 

“I need to…” 

“Go to sleep Stiles.” 

“Go home.” 

“I’ll wake you in a bit…go to sleep for god’s sake.” Stiles turns in his arms, winds a leg between Derek’s and pushes his nose to the hollow at the base of Derek’s throat. 

“Ok.”


End file.
